


Attestation

by Kisatsel



Series: where we are [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Light Bondage, Marriage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, almost excessively cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: “As it happens," Eliza says, “I have something to tell you.” She leaves her dress in a careless heap on the floor and begins to pick at the ties of her undergarments with clumsy, over-eager fingers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi here is some grossly domestic porn based off historical Hamilton/Eliza as filtered through [Lin's reading of one of Alexander's letters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BPiAlHNic1c) because sometimes you gotta indulge your id and go for it with the toppy possessive husband thing.

Alexander returns to her this afternoon. He has been almost a month in Philadelphia, and Eliza has much to show him. Much to say to him. Though she chides herself for it under her breath, her heart will insist on fluttering in her chest when she thinks of how soon his arrival shall be. The bed has been empty without him. They warned her of many things, but no one told her how much of a marriage was spent waiting. 

Philip is sleeping peacefully in his cot, she has swept the floor twice already, and though there are letters to be written and other tasks to occupy her hands and mind should she wish, Eliza cannot distract herself with work any longer. It would not do to have the house too clean. Alexander would determine at once why the bathtub was scrubbed to gleaming whiteness and then she would hear no end of it. _I never knew you to be so fastidious. Have you no other occupation in my absence, darling?_

Instead she stands at the window and looks down at the bustle of the street below, everyone busy with their own purpose, their little corner of New York with all its strange half-built clamor. _None at all save waiting for your return_ , she thinks in response to the husband in her head, which is so far from the truth that she laughs a little. Dear, fractious Philip misses his father and screams with all the disconsolate fury his tiny self can muster, which is a great deal. To her alarm and delight he has learned to walk, a marvel whose magnitude she could barely have conceived before having a child of her own. Philip was already a fearsome explorer when limited to crawling on all fours, and now he staggers around his domain, arms stretched out in front of him, laughing for the sheer joy of it. Eliza laughs too, when he clutches her leg and disappears underneath the folds of her skirt; her days and her nights are Philip, Philip, so that it is a relief when the ladies from church come over and she can gratefully pass him over to their ample bosoms to be cooed over. 

She brings a hand up to rest over her belly, the slight curve there: she had felt it, the unexpected exhaustion and lurching in her stomach, the strange aversions and food cravings, and had waited until there was no longer any doubt. They have been granted another child. Philip’s brother or sister. Eliza knows herself to be strong, and fears all the same with all her being. The fear will be halved when shared, the joy magnified. For now they fill her both and she trembles for a brief moment, and stares harder at a man down below wearing a very tall hat and carrying a bouquet of flowers. For whom has he bought that riot of color? Eliza decides that it is his wife, a stern and dignified woman who has cooked for him a dinner of pork. 

She sighs loudly. Perhaps there is something else to be cleaned. But she is tired. Better to think of something else, something less momentous.

There is the matter of the letters. Alexander succeeded in sending two letters to her via acquaintances travelling from Philadelphia, each of them over five pages in length and overflowing with sentiment, advice, opinions and various exhortations. She sent a note to him some two weeks ago with reassurances that she and Philip were well, that she thought of him often, some pieces of news she had thought he might find interesting, a brief response to his queries. Of course, this will not have been satisfactory, she muses. No doubt he will have something to say on the topic. 

Words are how Alexander builds his world, how he testifies to his love for her, gives it elegant form and makes it indelible. Eliza prefers to speak face to face, when he is there with her, and she can take his hand in hers and see his feelings stamped on his face. For all his beautiful phrasing, there is a simpler, deeper truth written in his eyes and the gentle downturn of his lips and it is this that Eliza reads with the most pleasure. 

She keeps up her lookout at the window until her legs tire and she sinks down onto a chair. Lost in thought, she does not notice his arrival until the rattle of the key in the lock interrupts her reverie. 

Eliza hurries to the hallway. Alexander is busy with his bags, which the coachman has stacked outside the door; she notices his writing desk on top of the pile. She edges past a trunk and takes hold of the lapels of his coat, spins him round and kisses him with all the impatience that four weeks of waiting has instilled in her. He flashes delight at her when his back hits the wall, pulls her towards him and takes it upon himself to deepen the kiss further, then takes her face in his hands and pulls them apart.The coachman clears his throat. 

“My thanks for your service,” Alexander says, not at all concerned at the impropriety of this display of marital affection. Eliza cannot find it in herself to regret it either. She hears the front door behind them close. 

“Home at last,” Eliza says warmly. 

Alexander, dusty from travel with the shadows under his eyes a little more pronounced than usual, looks at her as if formulating an answer to a very complex problem. “Eliza. Betsey, my dearest, you have grown only fairer in my absence. How is that possible. You must tell me immediately, for if the process continues apace I may be blind within the year.”

“Such nonsense.” Eliza tugs his coat off him and hangs it up on its hook. “Take your bags through to the bedroom, then you may greet your son. He’s sleeping, but I doubt he will be for much longer.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

There is a sense of rightness, of things falling back into place, to be standing both together at Philip’s side, the object of their shared obsession. 

“He walks, now,” Eliza says. “You’d better watch out.”

“What!” Alexander studies their child with astonishment. Philip’s head is pillowed on his arms, his feet sticking out at angles from under the blankets. “So we have a two-legged monster in our keep now.” 

Eliza laughs and pokes Alexander, reaches down to brush the hair from her son’s eyes. “How was business in Philadelphia?” 

“Oh, disagreeable as ever.” Alexander smiles sardonically. “You know how they love the sound of their own voices."

“No doubt you felt at home, then.”

He opens his mouth in feigned offense. “How could I when my Betsey and my Philip were far away? I’m still an interloper in the buildings of what passes for our government, but I made my voice heard all the same. I may have made an inch or so of progress. Madison, at least, sees reason and is prepared to work with me.”

“I’m glad,” Eliza says, and means it. 

Alexander takes her hand in his. “Your thoughts are elsewhere,” he says. “No wonder. What’s on your mind?” 

Eliza looks down at their son, his plump hands curled in the blanket, the little spray of soft dark hair. She squeezes her husband’s hand. “You’ve had a long journey,” she says. “Let’s talk in the bedroom.”

“What a good idea.” Alexander leans down and presses his lips to Philip’s forehead. “I should have thought of it sooner. My brilliance must be fading.”

“Very likely,” Eliza agrees. She tugs his hand impatiently. Alexander raises an eyebrow and follows her through to the bedroom. 

There she observes him: rumpled, hair flying out of its queue, as full of ever of his improbable, infuriating self. She has waited more than long enough to be with him again, and sees no reason to delay. She commences unbuttoning and untying and freeing herself of her dress and skirts. 

“I see you have something other than conversation on your mind.” Alexander settles on the bed and pulls off his jacket. 

“As it happens," Eliza says, “I have something to tell you.” She leaves her dress in a careless heap on the floor and begins to pick at the ties of her undergarments with clumsy, over-eager fingers. 

“Shall I help?” Alexander says. He looks almost disbelieving when she settles herself in his lap and places her hands on his shoulders. His tongue darts out to lick his lips; his fingers move down her bust, quicker than hers, well-trained in the art of unwrapping her. 

“So,” he says, when her chest is bare, skin tingling under his fingertips, “what is it you would tell me - oh.” His hands cup the gentle curve of her belly. Eliza nods, her voice caught in her throat. Alexander stares, and stares, and stares, his head bowed. Eliza leans back and lets him touch her with reverent hands. 

He found out about Philip by letter, of course. She rewrote it three times, quill digging into the paper, half plea, half demand: _send him home to me. To us._ Now the war is over and he is home on time for once. She kisses him softly, their faces pressed close together. His cheek is damp against hers. 

“So we’ll be a home of four, soon,” he whispers. 

“Yes.” Saying it makes it realer than it has been, not just a dream of a child but a scrap of flesh and blood. 

“We’ll need another crib. I’ll need more clients.”

“You’ll get them.”

Alexander’s hands stray to run over her back and Eliza shivers. She unclasps her hair and lets it fall over her bare shoulders. 

Alexander puts his mouth to the shell of her ear and whispers, “I shall have to be careful with you.” 

Eliza digs her fingers harder into his shoulders, pushes up closer so that she can grind down on his thigh. “Just as careful as you must be, and no more.” The proximity, his touch, has her needing more, rocking against him. 

His eyes widen a fraction, and his mouth twists in a particular smile, which she has missed very much. “Darling,” he murmurs, “why so restless? What am I going to do with you?” 

“I’ll let you decide that,” Eliza says. She starts on the buttons of his jacket, with more success than she had with the ties of her own dress, and slides it off his shoulders. The cravat follows, and then she can scrape her teeth gently over his throat and hear his soft, sudden gasp. 

His hands, spread wide over her hips, slide up her chest to ease her onto her back. Eliza sprawls comfortably and reaches a hand down to cup her warmth while he stands to undress, folds his jacket and breeches and lays them on a chair. She presses down with the palm of her hand just north of where her desire throbs, and observes the dear, familiar knobs of Alexander’s spine when he bends over. 

“At your leisure,” Eliza says. She erupts into giggles when he turns back around; he suppresses his smile, crawls to her and taps reprovingly at her wrist when she grinds down harder against her hand. She lifts her hands and makes of them a pillow for her head, and he nods. She closes her eyes and sighs; it is pleasing, to accede to his wishes this way. 

“So,” Alexander says, and presses a light kiss to her belly. “How long have you kept this a secret?”

Eliza considers. “Two weeks or so. I suspected earlier, but didn’t wish to tempt fate.” 

“Your letters made no mention of this. You’d better open your legs for me, sweetheart.” She lifts her legs and hooks them over Alexander’s shoulders, so that they are spread open and she is exposed to him. Alexander’s hands rest on her thighs, smeared a little damp, but he does not move to touch her. 

“I preferred to save the news,” Eliza says, her tone even to match his. 

“Ah, you are a sly girl, though others think you sweet.” He shakes his head and moves his head lower, teeth pressing against her thighs. Eliza gasps. Her hips twitch and she takes a deep breath, manages to still them. She feels hot and empty, quivering, her body awaiting him. Curse him for only ever slowing down in order to take her apart. 

Alexander looks up from sucking a bruise into her skin. “I thought my Betsey knew better than to hide things from her husband.” He presses his face, nose and mouth, against her cunt and then draws back. Her whole body jerks. “And, further to this point. I told you in my letter of the fourteenth that you should hold in reserve not the slightest thought nor tremor of emotion, that you should let your heart spill forth when writing to me.”

He fixes her with a piercing stare. “I recall it well,” Eliza manages. 

“And yet, the note you sent me was very short and meager. This alone would be cause for displeasure, but you have deliberately concealed from me news that you carry our child inside of you. What have you to say for yourself?”

“I’ve--” Eliza wriggles, twists her hands where they are wrapped around her wrists. “I’ve been busy.” One scornful glance is enough to inform her that this will not do. Alexander licks delicately at her and she shudders, clenches around nothing. “Please, love,” she begs. She curls her toes and pushes her shoulders back, hips up, stretched out and on offer for him. She is light and heavy and hungry like a candle wick that catches upon the touch of flame, is engulfed, and burns steadily. Perhaps he will bind her hands like this. It would settle her. “Alexander, will you.” She looks at him imploringly; he waits. “Fix my hands like this, darling, if you please.” 

She sees hunger flare in his eyes. “I’m sure I can find something.” Alexander rubs her leg briefly and then stands and hurries over to the wardrobe. He emerges, triumphant, with the old lace scarf that finds little use outside of their bedroom and kneels beside her to wrap it around her wrists so they are bound together. He ties it fast to the head of the bed. The loops of cloth are loose around her but they hold when she tugs at them a little. Eliza lets out a long, pleased sigh and lets her head tip back. “Now you have me caught,” she says. 

Alexander kisses her quickly on the lips and runs his hands over her, thumbs at her nipples until they stand up under his touch. “I could keep you here until you’ve answered for your negligence. So you think only of me, and cannot hide a single thought.”

Eliza nods. Alexander resumes his place between her legs and applies his clever mouth, no longer teasing, steady licks, and she finds herself all too soon on the brink, reduced to short breaths and stuttering pleas. It washes over her when he slips two fingers inside her and she cries out, his fingers crooked and rubbing hot against her and his tongue flicking in counterpoint ,snared and pinned down and stretched out until it becomes too much and she writhes and kicks her heels. He draws his fingers out, gives her one last delicate lick and lifts his head. His lips are shiny and wet, her arousal smeared on his chin. 

“It all belongs to me now,” he says cheerfully. “In the eyes of God and the law. Your pleasure most of all. I will sip of this cup as often as I may.”

He comes up the bed to lie next to her and runs a finger over her wrists where they are tied, looking well satisfied. Eliza strains her head up towards him, hoping to be kissed; he nips at her lip, making her chase it, and then finally pushes her down so that they can kiss wetly, devouring. She licks her own taste out of his mouth. 

“What would you have written, had you heeded me?” Alexander says, as soon as she pauses for breath. “Did you think of me at all this past month?”

His cock is pressed against her leg and he rubs lazily against her. Eliza wants it inside her now, but words must come first. 

“Frequently,” she assures him. “Is there some point to this digression?” He swats at her thigh and the sting of it is enough to jolt her into answering. “Yes - Alexander, darling, I missed you terribly though I’m used to your being absent. The bed was cold without you.” 

“Better.” His eyes scan her, expecting, needing more. 

Eliza likes to think herself free with her affections, a loving wife, but Alexander with his heavy storms and blinding passions will have every proof of love laid bare even if the unearthing of it leaves the hands bloody.

She closes her eyes and says, “I wanted to see your face when I told you. And I enjoy it when you - remind me that I am yours alone.” 

“Then I will make sure you are reminded often,” he says, and kisses her cheeks and lips and neck, maddeningly light.  He sucks on her nipple, smiles against her skin, and lets his hands wander back down over her belly to her thighs, eases them open. 

It’s a stretch when he pushes inside her, after a month of only her own fingers, and she feels a little raw, hands tied so she is unable to hold onto him, terribly protective of the trio they make with Alexander lying over her and rocking into her. 

It’s easy like this, familiar and good; she acquaints herself once more with the crease in his brow and the way he bites his lip, darts his eyes over her and then blinks as if pained. 

Legs wrapped around him, Eliza urges him deeper, and he groans quietly. This time her need radiates outward from the core of her as Alexander’s thrusts begin to grow faster, jolting her against the mattress. She sees when he begins to lose himself to it, mouth hanging open. They kiss clumsily, more of a bump of his chin against hers, and he shudders and spills hot inside her. Alexander stills with his forehead resting on her chest. 

Another,” Alexander says, barely a question, eases out of her and then tucks his fingers back inside her alongside his release, rubbing tight, practised circles at the top of her crease; her body is open and easy for him and she rides out the waves of it helplessly, warm and sore, tugging at the cloth to feel it rub against her wrists.

Eliza breathes out long and slow and settles back against the bed. Her hands ache. She nudges her husband, busy kissing her stomach, with her toe. 

Alexander shuffles up to join her at the head of the bed, works the knot loose and unwinds the scarf to free her wrists, then collapses down next to her. He takes her hands in his and draws them to his mouth to press kisses to her knuckles one by one.

“Dearest Betsey,” he says. “Angel of my heart. Have I informed you yet that I missed you terribly in Philadelphia? You are beautiful and good. Say thank you, that I tie you and fill you the way you like.”

“Thank you, Alexander. That was lovely.” Eliza runs a hand down his chest. “As are you,” she whispers. His face softens, and she knows him well enough to read gratitude in his eyes. “Just think. You’ll be a father of two, soon enough.” 

“And you, mother Betsey? You’ll be there too, I dare to hope.” 

“Goodness,” Eliza says. “What a thought.” 

“Think on it. I’ll go see if Philip needs for anything.” Alexander pecks her on the lips, stands and stretches. He pulls on an undershirt and fights a brief battle with his breeches before they too are donned. 

Eliza waves lazily to him, rolls onto her back and smiles at the ceiling.

**Author's Note:**

> kiwisatsuma on tumblr :) 
> 
> comments make my day!


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